


Requiem, Rebirth

by FangQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Breaking Up (Ron/Hermione), Canon Divergent, Coming Out, Established Relationship (Sirius/Remus), F/M, First Times, Grief/Mourning, HP: EWE, Incorrect use of Pensieves (probably), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Death (Sirius obviously), Masturbation, Multi, No Teddy or Tonks AU, Outdoor Sex, Pensieves, Public Blow Jobs, Remus Lives AU, Ron Sandwich, Sloppy Seconds, Switching, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Sex (Sirius/Remus), Voyeurism, Young!Sirius/Remus, loss of a loved one, pensieve sex, sexual awakenings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: He'd always known he was different, somehow. That he waslike them. Maybe somewhere in all these memories of theirs, he could learn to feel good about it.





	Requiem, Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tjs_whatnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 [HP Crossgen Fest](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/50331.html), in response to [this prompt](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/41211.html?thread=797691#t797691) by tjs_whatnot.
> 
> To my prompter: I fear I may have gone a touch darker and angstier than you were looking for? Either way, I hope you still enjoy it! :) A big thank you to shiftylinguini for giving this a once-over and calming my fears. <3

"Do you want to talk about it?"

That's what Harry had asked him, the night Ron had shown up on his doorstep, all he could gather of his belongings stuffed into the trunk at his side. The torrential downpour had caught him by surprise when he'd Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place, and he hadn't made it under the awning in time. He reckoned he looked about as shitty as he felt, standing there drenched from head to toe, dripping a steady stream of rainwater onto the welcome mat.

Ginny had been on tour with the Harpies at the time, and so they'd had the house to themselves. Harry had offered him tea, to warm up from the chill outside―he'd switched it to scotch once he saw the look in Ron’s eyes. After Ron had changed into dry clothes, they'd settled down in front of the hearth in the living room, sipping their drinks in strained silence. Then Harry had asked.

Ron took a long, hard look at his best friend. Soon-to-be fiancée to his precious only sister, or so they'd discussed, whenever he managed to get his act together―the sap had actually taken the time to not only ask for her father and mother's blessing, but for that of each of her brothers as well, although they'd all been waiting with bated breath in the months since for him to finally pop the question. Well, endearing awkwardness aside, Harry was doing rather well in life, wasn't he? He and Ginny were all settled in here in this massive house, and he was on the fast track to success in the DMLE. He was still the Chosen One, even now, four years after the Dark Lord's fall, and he could have the entire wizarding community eating out of the palm of his hand, if he was so inclined. And here Ron was: "between jobs", kicked out of his own flat, and forced to run to his childhood friend's aid. How could he tell a man like Harry that he didn't know if he'd made the right choice in leaving the department himself? How could he tell him that he'd been contemplating asking George if he needed help around the shop, but was afraid that he wouldn't be any good at that, either? How could he tell him that he and Hermione had called it quits earlier that evening based on much more than just his current lack of a career…?

He didn't know how to tell him. And so he'd simply shaken his head and taken another drink.

Ron knew his parents loved him no matter what. They were _good people_ , Molly and Arthur Weasley, and they'd never been known to judge others without just cause. Still...it was a topic they'd never breached with him―or any of his siblings, as far as he knew. From the moment he was born, it seemed, he'd been aware that he was meant to grow up, marry a nice girl, settle down and have a family. It was why they constantly nagged at poor Charlie, not to mention Percy. They weren't following protocol, as it were, choosing to live as bachelors like they did.

He knew that his friends wouldn't disown him, either, over something like this. Not after all they'd been through. Truth be told, they probably didn't care who he shared his bed with, so long as he was happy, especially in times like these. But he couldn't name any single one of them that was the same way―at least, not that he knew of, anyway. Somehow that made him feel as if they couldn't possibly understand.

He also knew that times were different. People like him were more accepted in society now than they had been in the past. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it, about how the wizarding world would react to knowing that one of their beloved war heros wasn't exactly "normal" like the rest of them...

And he could still see the look on Hermione's face, when he'd told her―when he'd admitted to her all the confusing thoughts he'd been having lately, been having for his entire life, if he were really being honest with himself. She'd tried to smile through her tears; had said that although she was hurt, she would always love and support him. He wanted to believe her, but that had been a look of far too much mistrust and disappointment for him to ignore. He couldn't help but feel like, with that one admission, he'd turned her life upside down. And he didn't think he could bear to do it to anyone else.

It was thoughts like these that kept him up over the next few nights and wandering the halls of Grimmauld Place, while his sister and best mate slept peacefully.

The manor didn't bring him any comfort. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd stayed there before, and it wasn't exactly the most welcoming of places, anyhow. He would still catch himself tiptoeing through the foyer, despite them having finally found a way to remove Mrs. Black's portrait a couple of years ago, and there were several areas he wouldn't dare go. It wasn't a _home_ to him, just somewhere in between, to lay his head while he figured his life out. He would drift from room to room, searching for something that would be able to put his restless mind at ease. More often than not, he'd end up in the drawing room, thumbing through a magazine, or in the kitchen for a late-night snack. Although he'd been dismissed from his duties when Harry had taken full custody of the property, Kreacher would pop up from time to time, to mutter and gripe about freeloaders dirtying up his young master's house.

There eventually came one such evening when everything changed in a way he couldn't possibly have predicted.

He was performing his usual zombie-like pacing, when he'd paused at a slightly open door on the second landing. He'd passed it all the times before, but for some reason he felt compelled to look inside. It had been Sirius' study during the time the Order had occupied the house, and no one except Harry and Remus had felt right about going in since. For a time following the end of the war, Remus had called this place his home as well. Whenever Ron would stop by for a visit, he would see the older man coming out of it. But he'd never seen the door left ajar before.

With a light push, it swung the rest of the way open and beckoned Ron inside. He'd always thought it would feel wrong, somehow, to be in here―like with Regulus' bedroom. Instead, he found nothing but a plain old office: a desk and chair facing him from the far wall, and a cabinet and several bookshelves to his left. The lamp set at the corner of the desk was still lit, and he quickly crossed the room to douse the flame with a wave of his wand. Harry must've been rummaging for something in here, or whatever he did when he came in, and forgotten to close up when he'd left. Ron was about to turn back and finish the job for him, when he suddenly noticed the cabinet door had been left open as well…

From within its depths, a shimmering light glowed, creating patterns like a running stream across the antique wood. Suddenly, Ron felt the same sinking feeling in his gut that he remembered from that Boggart lesson back in Remus' DADA class. If a giant spider came out of that cupboard, he was likely to wake even the ghosts that still lingered in this house with his shrieking. Still, the likelihood that a Boggart was hiding in here was probably quite small, and so he summoned some of his Gryffindor courage and marched over to wrench open the door.

What greeted him was not at all what he would've expected. Inside the cabinet was a single, low-hanging shelf, and on it sat an ornately decorated basin. It was made of silver, inlaid with at least a couple dozen glittering jewels, and it contained a substance that was somewhere between water and fog. A Pensieve. Ron had never used one himself, but of course he knew what they looked like, how they worked. In its mirror-like surface, he could see snippets of time flowing―brief glimpses of the past that would rise to the top for a moment, then be lost again, as they continued to churn. Many faces he didn't recognize, but there were some he did; he was pretty sure he even saw Harry in there once or twice.

That was probably the moment he should've gone back to bed. There was no reason whatsoever for him to go poking around in others' memories. Not to mention that, although it appeared normal and innocent enough, this house still had some hidden gems of dark magic, from the days of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Since Ron didn't have much experience in the way of Pensieves, he couldn't possibly have known whether or not this one had been tampered with. But it was incredibly late, and he was tired and not thinking straight―and so when a strange image, involving two people he was fairly sure he knew in some sense, floated into view, he couldn't help himself. Curiosity won, and he dunked the tip of his wand into the basin to keep the memory in place, watching with widening eyes as the frame expanded to fill the entirety of the bowl.

What were they doing in there? He could just barely make out the scene, but it looked like...He was leaning closer, and closer still, until his nose brushed the surface. And then he was falling, tumbling, his stomach swooping as he lost his balance and found the means to fly on his own all at the same time. The study dissolved around him, gradually replaced, brick by brick, with the location of the memory he'd been inspecting. Night suddenly became golden afternoon sunlight, its rays filtered through tall windows coming in on either side.

Once he'd landed, and the world settled, he found he knew exactly where he was: Hogwarts library. Specifically,he was in one particular back corner, by the Arithmancy section. Not that he'd spent a great deal of time in the library at school―aside from when Hermione had insisted upon it―but he recognized it from...well, that brief and embarrassing period when he'd been dating Lavender. It was a secluded little space, often unoccupied, and they'd used that to their advantage, stealing a quick snog at its reading table a handful of occasions.

It was the pair seated at it now, donning the very same Gryffindor uniforms, that immediately drew his attention. On opposite sides, hovering over a mess of parchment and open textbooks, was...Remus and Sirius. He would've known those two anywhere, but they looked so young that he couldn't help but stare. The scars on Remus' face stood out a little more against the pallor of his skin, but his smile was unfettered, not weighed down with the sadness it carried of late. Ron's gaze shifted to his companion, and he felt something squeeze in his chest. He hadn't had the same attachment to him as, say, someone like Harry had, but it still shook him to see Sirius. Back in the real world, it had been six years since he'd passed, and yet here he was, looking as youthful and vibrant as he'd always been described. His hair was a touch shorter, styled for the time, and his eyes held a radiance that Ron had only seen traces of in his elder counterpart.

Neither of them appeared to be particularly invested in whatever it was they were studying for. Remus had paused in reading a passage in one of his books to rub his eyes. Sirius wasn't even attempting any pretense; his focus was pretty well captivated by the boy across from him. One elbow rested on the table's surface, propping up his chin, and those sparkling eyes gazed across the sea of homework to trace the planes of Remus' face.

"You should really be focusing on your essay, you know," Remus suddenly chided―although not unkindly―without even bothering to glance up.

"Says the bloke who's barely written one line," Sirius countered, reaching across the table with two fingers to gently tug at the parchment his friend's forearm was carefully concealing. Remus snatched it back immediately, attempting to look scandalized, but failing miserably; they were both snickering soon enough.

"Do as I say, not as I do."

"Stop looking so damn sexy all the time, and maybe I'd be able to," Sirius whispered teasingly back, his eyebrows practically waggling.

Ron felt his breath catch in his throat. His heart began to beat a little faster. He'd always known. It had been regarded as a public secret for ages, from what he'd heard: Remus and Sirius, being _more than_ friends. In the few times he'd seen them together as adults, he'd suspected he'd caught them once or twice―a brush of the arm here, an affectionate grin there. Now he was watching Sirius smirk suggestively, while Remus licked his lips and considered the proposition.

Ron was beginning to feel like he should probably go, but he was frozen in place. Remus was glancing around them, checking if the coast was clear. From his position in front of the shelves along the wall, Ron could see into the stacks leading off from their little nook. There was one lone Ravenclaw girl selecting a book in the next row, but otherwise, they were utterly alone. It should've stayed that way; Ron knew his presence couldn't possibly be welcome, memory or not. But he had to see what was going to happen...

"Alright, if I do one thing, will you get back to it when I'm done?"

Sirius looked uncertain for a moment. "Uh...sure?"

Without providing an explanation, Remus scooted his chair back and slipped beneath the table. Sirius appeared just as confused as Ron as to what was going on, until there came the sound of a zipper coming undone, and then...

"Fuck, Moony…" Sirius moaned breathlessly, his hands disappearing into his lap, his head lolling against the back of his chair.

The whisper was so quiet, even the girl in the next row couldn't have possibly heard him. But _Ron_ had, and the sound went straight to his groin. There was something so wrong about him watching this. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that. But he just _had_ to see. Curiosity won again; he shuffled forward to crouch down and peer under the table. He got there just in time to watch Sirius' cock slide between Remus' lips.

Remus was slurping greedily around his mouthful with the ineptitude of a teenager, but it didn't seem to deter his partner's pleasure in the slightest. He was getting the hang of it, though, Ron could see. Sirius' hands were steadying him, too, wound tight in his hair and guiding him. One of Remus' hands clutched at Sirius' thigh, the other cupping and fondling between his own. The outline of his hard cock was prominent, straining through the confines of his trouser leg.

And Ron was hard, too. So ridiculously hard.

Sirius made another soft, needy noise, prompting Ron to look up. His head had tilted forward again, his gray eyes clouded with lust. Only it wasn't _Remus_ he was looking at…

Ron nearly collided with the tabletop as he suddenly jumped to his feet and scrambled to back away. His heart was thudding even wilder in his chest now, but for a reason that had absolutely nothing to do with the arousal he'd been feeling moments ago. For a second there, he'd foolishly believed that Sirius was actually looking at _him_ ―a suspicion that was only confirmed further as the boy himself turned his head to follow Ron's movements as he returned to his original position against the wall...

No. No no, it wasn't real, it was just a memory! There was no way he could actually see Ron standing there! _There was no way it was real_! And yet Sirius' hooded eyes were still trained on him, a playful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Ron's own erection was tenting the front of his pajama bottoms, and Sirius could _see it_ ; he could feel it in his bones, a realization that had the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Remus was still hard at work under the table, and a shudder ran through Sirius that forced his head back and his hips to arch off his chair, and Ron couldn't tell if that was more for his boyfriend or for their accidental voyeur.

He shook his head, and the scene began to fade. He was flying backwards, up and up, until the library was merely a speck far down below. Soon enough, he was once again standing in the study, his hands gripping the sides of the basin, and his breath coming in small, shaky pants. His cock throbbed, and he whimpered to himself, shutting his eyes and trying his best to will away the images he'd seen. This Pensieve clearly _had_ been tampered with! It was full of all sorts of dark magic! The people in those memories shouldn't have been able to see him, shouldn't have even acknowledged his presence! And the fact that it just so happened to show him something that was, in a way, buried deep within his own heart...It was evil, filthy, and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

In the quiet dark of his bedroom, Ron fisted his length, his opposite hand covering his mouth to muffle his cries. In his head, an old Gryffindor couple writhed together on top of that library table, sporting the faces that he knew them better by.

***

Who could've known that one simple comment from his mother would ruin an entire evening?

It was Sunday, and Harry, Ginny, and their new roommate had come to the Burrow for the weekly family dinner. Molly and Arthur had instated the tradition shortly after the end of the war. They'd said that with all the losses they'd seen, and now that the children were all grown up and out leading their own lives, it was important for everyone to spend time together when they could. Ron had always secretly loved those nights, even though he'd never voiced as much. It was nice to know that, no matter what else was going on in his life, he could look forward to at least one good, home-cooked meal a week, with his parents and siblings crowded around him. Charlie, Bill, and Fleur couldn't make it every time, seeing as they didn't live as close by as the rest, and there was certainly no shortage of familial squabbles, but it was a comfort to him nonetheless.

A whole week and a half had gone by since his and Hermione's breakup. He'd foregone attending dinner the previous Sunday, having not felt up to facing his family just yet. But he'd decided to go tonight with kind words from Ginny on his mind―the reassurance that she'd given him yesterday, that although his parents loved his ex, they loved him more, and they'd be supportive of the choices he'd made. He had a feeling she wouldn't have said that if she'd known the real reason for their split, but he'd kept the thought to himself.

Everything had been going quite splendidly. Despite the fact that this was only the second time in more than three years that he'd come without Hermione, no one had mentioned anything about it. Of course, his mother had hugged him a little longer than usual when he'd walked in the door, squeezing him tight, almost making him stumble from his substantial height above her. His father had smiled sadly and given him a pat on the back out of nowhere, and he'd caught his brothers eyeing him every now and then, although they'd just nod and look away when he did. Considering that he'd expected something more along the interrogatory lines, he was grateful. They'd made it all the way to pudding without a word about her or their relationship, and he'd thought he was home free.

Then there came the slip. His mother probably hadn't meant to even say it aloud; he tried to tell himself that, but he'd never been the best at keeping his temper, and he couldn't help but think that she might have―just _might have_ ―said it was a way of introducing the topic. One moment they were passing the sticky toffee 'round the table, and the next she'd mumbled something about it having always been Hermione's favorite, and the entire room had gone so deathly quiet they could've heard the ghoul in the attic sigh.

It was at that exact moment that George had announced he was heading out back for some air. After a hushed conversation, he'd managed to convince Percy to join him, although the elder had thrown a concerned look Ron's way before following him out. With a supportive glance, Harry and Ginny had chosen to start clearing the table, taking the dirty dishes into the kitchen to wash up, leaving him there in the dining room with only his mother and father, who were both looking at him like they expected him to explode.

"I'm so sorry, dear, I didn't mean…" she'd stammered, wiping her hands nervously on the towel she'd draped over her shoulder. When he continued to stare at her in indignation, she added, "It's only that we...well… _Arthur_."

His father didn't come to her aid. He was staring down at the mug of tea she'd brought him as if embarrassed by the whole situation. Ron was looking away as well, now, just praying that the conversation would end at that. He didn't want to have to explain it to them. He didn't even know how to explain it to himself yet.

"It's only that we're sorry this happened," she began again, when the silence had stretched on longer than was comfortable, "and...and we want to understand. You two seemed so happy together! What went wrong?"

Wrong. He grimaced at the word. If there'd been any wrong in their relationship, then it hadn't been something he'd noticed. It hadn't been anything Hermione had done; it hadn't been that they weren't perfectly happy together, as everyone claimed. No, it had been because there was something very wrong with _him_ …

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd already gotten to his feet. He was ignoring his parents bewildered faces as he turned towards the door, intent on heading home. Nothing good could come of him staying any longer tonight, that much he knew. He wasn't ready to talk to them about this just yet, and if they pried, he was likely to say something he'd regret.

"Where are you―?"

"I don't want to talk about this, Mum―"

"I'm _sorry_ , dear, really I am! We just want to help―"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!"

The room went silent again, his mother backing up a step as if he'd slapped her. Ron couldn't remember a time when he'd ever raised his voice to her like that. Even his father had gotten up, his eyebrows knitted sternly as he regarded him. The little tinkling noises of Harry and Ginny cleaning up in the next room came to an abrupt halt. Ron could feel his cheeks heating, his fists clenching helplessly at his sides.

His mother's voice followed him down the hall, calling him back. He blocked out the sound, bound for the back door. The kitchen was on his right, and he could hear Harry and Ginny whispering inside.

"You saw her the other day, didn't you? What did she say?"

Ginny sounded uncertain as she replied, "Not much...Just that if we wanted to know, then we should ask _him_."

His hand turned the knob, and he fled into the backyard. He could hear George and Percy startle as he passed them by. They tried to stop him, but went ignored as well. He trudged over the lawn to the top of the far hill and vanished with a loud crack.

The cold dark of Grimmauld Place greeted him like an old friend for the first time in his life. It was still, quiet. No one to ask him where he'd been, or where he was going. He poured himself a glass of Ogden's and went to his room.

Harry and Ginny returned an hour later. They'd knocked on his door, to check on him, but he'd pretended to be asleep. It wasn't until he was sure they were safely tucked away in their own room that he came out and made his way to the study.

He didn't even know why he was doing it, really. All he knew was that he hadn't been able to get them out of his head since that night. Not just them: what they'd been doing. He'd never… _allowed_ himself to look at that kind of thing before. Of course, he knew about the wizard magazines. There was a seedy shop in Knockturn Alley that sold them, but he'd never been able to convince himself to buy one. Now he could hardly look at another man in public without thinking about it. It was even worse than when he'd been with Hermione, before he'd told her everything, when he'd been stealing glances and questioning and fretting. He _wanted_ , like he'd never wanted before. He felt like a teen again, like he'd discovered sex for the first time.

The basin was there, just where he'd left it. This time, he closed the door before opening the cabinet. He gazed down into the past once more and tried to tell himself that this wasn't a good idea.

But he'd always known he was different, somehow. That he was _like them_. Maybe somewhere in all these memories of theirs, he could learn to feel good about it. Learn to accept it. He told himself that that was the reason, as he dipped his wand in, found a point in time, and tumbled inside.

They were in a clearing somewhere in the English countryside. It was dusk, and there were summer rain clouds on the horizon. The small cluster of trees were just sparse enough on one side for him to see a collection of homes dotting the hills beyond. The one closest to them had a brown, thatched roof over red brick, a clothesline strung across the open backyard. If Ron could hazard a guess, he would say that it was probably Remus' childhood home.

However, the exact location of the scene wasn't what was most important to him. He was far too occupied with the couple themselves, who were currently fucking in earnest against the tree in front of him. Ron had pushed his pajamas and pants down to free his aching cock, and now he was stroking it furiously to match the rhythm they'd set.

This had to be post-graduation; they looked a couple years older than the last time he'd seen them. He could see stubble on Sirius' jaw as his partner mouthed along it. Remus' muscles looked more defined under his jumper, his biceps flexing as he gripped Sirius' hips and slammed into him.

Ron sidled up to the tree to get a closer look. Sirius' hands were tense where they braced him, his fingers curling around the trunk. He arched and moaned as Remus gave a particularly hard thrust, and Ron moaned with him, biting his lip as he tightened the grip on his own cock. He was so close to them now, he could see a bead of sweat rolling down from Sirius' hairline, see the saliva coating his lips as his mouth hung open, panting. Sirius' cock was right there, bobbing happily with each rock of his hips, and Ron could've reached out to take hold of it, if he'd wanted to. But he didn't know if he was ready for that just yet. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his own along the exposed thigh, leaving a trail of precome in its wake. It even _felt_ like real skin. He'd been half expecting them to be like ghosts, and for him to pass right through them, but no. The coarse hair dragging across the head made his toes curl. For a moment, he closed his eyes, basking in the touch, the sounds, the impending orgasm building in his abdomen.

Then he nearly jumped clean out of his body as he felt something warm and wet press against his lips. He would've backed up, had there not suddenly been a firm hand holding him fast by the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes to see a head of dark hair and pale skin dotted with five-o'clock shadow. Sirius. Sirius was… _kissing him_.

He'd been right, this thing _had_ to have been bewitched. Otherwise, something like this shouldn't have been possible. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave, despite the fears that knowledge left him with. He opened his mouth and allowed the other man's tongue inside, unable to stifle the hedonistic moan it elicited. Sirius' hand trailed down to fondle his bare arse, and it was at that moment that he surged towards the edge. He pulled away, gasping, his free hand now clinging to the tree for support as well.

Over Sirius' shoulder, he could see Remus stutter in his movements. He watched as the man's jaw went slack, his eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy, and lost every last semblance of his composure.

***

Ron had never realized it before, how deep their relationship ran. In the past few weeks he'd spent at Grimmauld Place, he'd seen practically everything. From as far back as their first kiss...to what he'd assumed was their final moment together, before Sirius' death. Every time, he'd swear it was the last, only to find himself back again the following night.

There was something so intoxicating― _freeing_ ―about watching them. About watching two men love each other as much as they did, bugger what society thought, and all the rest. About seeing how natural, how effortless, a relationship like that could truly be.

Tonight, Sirius stood at the side of the bed, Remus' legs slung loosely around his waist as he pounded him into the mattress. They were in one of the upstairs bedrooms at Grimmauld Place; Ron recognized it as a guest room Remus had occupied when he'd lived there after the war. This was during the time that the Order had been there, by the look of them. Sirius' scraggly locks hung like curtains around his face as he leaned over Remus, fucking into him for all he was worth. The bed's frame creaked under the strain. Remus moaned as Sirius sucked a love bite onto his collarbone.

Ron was perched, naked, at the foot of the bed, his cock nearly hovering over Remus' chest as he wanked. He'd dripped a spot of precome onto his bicep earlier, and the sight had nearly made him come immediately. But as nice as that would've felt, he was here for quite different purposes this evening. He'd been inching closer and closer to them for some time now, inserting himself into each scene he'd witnessed bit by bit, and he was about to test his theory.

But just then, the memory took him by surprise. Sirius stopped for seemingly no reason at all and looked up at him. He then pulled out and took a step back, much to his partner's chagrin. He was scowling, and looked like he was about to curse him out. But then Sirius was beckoning Ron closer, and Remus seemed to understand.

For Ron's part, he was practically shaking. This was it, wasn't it? He didn't know if he was ready. But he looked down at Sirius' cock, glistening with lubricant, and his gut clenched. He wanted to know what that felt like. Of course, he had a general idea, having had sex of the heterosexual variety before. Somehow, he'd always felt like this would be very different. Determined, yet nervous, he slid off the bed and crossed around to stand between Remus' outstretched legs.

This certainly wasn't the way most would choose to have their first try at something, but then again, there had been nothing very normal about what he'd been doing lately. He knew he could easily go out to any Muggle club, where no one would know him, to pull a bloke. But there was something so comforting about _them_ , here in this Pensieve. They were established, experienced. Besides the fact that they weren't _real_ , so they couldn't judge him, and even if they did, only he would remember it.

Ron lined himself up at Remus' entrance, already slick and oh so ready for him from the frantic lovemaking he'd interrupted. The elder man's legs wrapped around his waist encouragingly, urging him forward. He managed to slip inside with only minimal resistance, a groan falling from his lips as he bottomed out.

This was, indeed, very different from being with a woman, yet just similar enough that it brought him comfort. Remus' hole was a tighter than he was used to, but they both soon relaxed, and it felt like he knew what he was doing at least somewhat by the time he began thrusting. Remus' balls and erection were rubbing against his stomach, hot and messy. Ron braced himself with his hands on either side of the man's head, and revelled in the gasps and moans each cant of his hips forced from him.

Sirius was pressing close behind him now, one finger trailing down the crack between his cheeks. Ron shivered as he felt the tip swirling against his puckered hole. Of course, he'd seen enough by now to know what was going to happen, but he paused nonetheless, anxiety creeping up on him. He'd tried that sort of thing out on himself a few times, but he wasn't sure what it would feel like from someone else…

It was almost gentle, the way Sirius eased the pad of his forefinger inside him. The lube was chilly at first, but luckily it didn't take long for it to warm up. The explorative pressure from behind reminded Ron of what he should be doing; he began rocking his hips once more, much to the delight of the man beneath him. Remus kissed him through it all, and soon there were two digits scissoring him open in time with his renewed thrusts.

He hadn't known, previously, that something like this was possible. Three men, at the same time. Sirius proved his initial inklings utterly foolish as he removed his fingers, soon replacing them with something much thicker. Ron gasped, stilling again, as he felt Sirius' cock ease him open. A string of colorful swears escaped him, the sting of his arse being split open for the first time catching him off guard. But dear lord, did it feel good. Sirius was definitely a bit bigger than he'd been expecting, and the underside of his cock was rubbing against a spot inside Ron that made him have to beg himself not to come.

Sirius set a steady pace, obviously practicing a good deal of patience with him. His actions, however, did result in getting Ron to move inside of Remus once more. The three of them formed an assembly line of sorts, with Sirius thrusting into Ron, Ron, in turn, rocking desperately into Remus, and Remus arching back and howling his pleasure.

Ron felt compelled to stick it out a little longer, give some pleasure to his two partners―although he didn't know how much good that would do, anyway. But he couldn't hold on; the dual stimulation proved too much for him, and soon he was coming harder than he ever had in his life, his thighs trembling with the effort. Remus leaned up to capture the cry that burst from his throat, moving with him as he rode out each successful shock. Afterwards, he collapsed on top of him quite gladly, sweaty and thoroughly sated, as Sirius' thrusts gradually stilled behind him.

He was dimly aware of the tender kisses Remus was pressing to his temple, before the scene shimmered and faded away.

***

Ron knew something had to be up when Harry had asked him, a couple weeks back, if he'd be willing to spend an evening at George's, to give Ginny and him some privacy. It had been a terribly lonely night without the Pensieve (and avoiding his brother's questions about his ex), but it had been worth it just to see the radiant smile on his baby sister's face the following morning as she flashed him the shiny new diamond on her ring finger. He'd lifted her into his arms and spun her around as she giggled gleefully, exchanging with Harry a look of pride and congratulations over her shoulder.

He'd banded together with their friends and a few ex-coworkers from the DMLE to throw them an extravagant engagement party. They'd managed to rent out the Leaky Cauldron for the affair, and there'd been no expense spared on food and drink. _Everyone_ was there: their family, _all_ their friends, at least half of the Ministry's staff. Even Headmistress McGonagall herself, as well as several professors, had made an appearance.

Of course Ron had known that _he_ was going to be there, as he'd been the one to draw up the guest list. And yet...there was something about actually seeing him up close, for the first time since he and Hermione had called things off―for the first time since his almost nightly trips to the Pensieve had begun. He'd been lucky enough in that she'd sent her regrets, and therefore wasn't in attendance. Harry and Ginny were, of course, upset about it at first, but they'd quickly brushed it off, saying that a party didn't matter, she was going to be one of their bridesmaids, anyway, and they knew she supported them. Ron didn't know if she hadn't come because of him, or because of the excuse she'd given, that she'd been called out of town for work. Either way, he was glad to have the chance to avoid the issue for a bit longer. Unfortunately, his second little problem of late hadn't, apparently, been so easy to skirt...Remus Lupin walked in, and suddenly the room felt far too small. Ron could barely catch his breath. He was painfully aware of every move he made, every word out of his mouth. When Remus came over to greet Harry, he stopped to give Ron a hug as well, and it was all he could do not to jump him right then and there.

He'd spent the remainder of the evening trying to avoid Remus as much as possible. It actually didn't end up being all that difficult, for the most part; there were so many guests that it was quite easy for them to pass the time mingling in each successive, separate pocket of the room without ever running into each other. Still, Ron could _feel_ him; he would sense his presence, turn and see him smiling, laughing, taking a sip of his drink, and his skin would burn with need.

It was towards the end of the night, as the party was gradually winding down, when he finally lost the battle. He was at the bar, Tom refilling his pint, and found himself caught completely off guard as Remus approached and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. Ron shuddered involuntarily under the touch. Even when the hand moved away again, he could still feel it there, the warmth seeping into him.

"So, I hear you're their new house guest, eh?" Remus asked, nodding his head in Harry and Ginny's direction.

"Y-yeah." Ron cleared his throat, cursing the blush that came when his voice cracked. "Yeah, I'm, uh...Just for a bit, while I sort some things out."

"I can understand that." And his smile was kind, as if he really did. Ron found he couldn't look away from it. His body had very nearly turned to mush by the time he realized that Remus was speaking again.

"Sorry?"

"I asked how the old place was treating you?"

"Oh, uh...fine." More than fine. In fact, one could say that his stay there had been quite the enlightening one. "Still full of shit, as always." There, now that was a more _Ron_ thing to say, wasn't it? If so, then why did he feel so stupid? However, to his immense relief, Remus laughed.

"I know, it's always been a mess. Can't say I've helped much, in that regard; there's a lot of my own junk in there still. I'd kind of left in a hurry...Harry had insisted the place was more mine than his, but...I couldn't stay there anymore. Too many memories…"

"Yeah, I bet."

It was out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to think about it. They both froze. Remus' expression plainly said that he hadn't intended to go down any particular track with that comment; it was meant to be taken lightly. Ron wanted to die―just sink into the floorboards and rot.

"I-I mean, I...I'm sorry…" His heart raced. He had to find something to say, anything. He didn't like the way Remus' brows had risen into his hairline, the way that look was making his blood run cold and his stomach sour. He wanted to go back to the warm and fuzzy way he'd felt looking at him all evening. And in all of that, he found himself saying, "I'm sorry for your loss. I can't imagine what that must be like, to lose someone like…"

They paused once more, the implications of what he was saying hanging in the air between them. Remus was still looking at Ron strangely, although he didn't appear angry, or hurt, just...confused. But then he smiled, again, sadly, and replied, "It's alright. I've had a few years, now, to get used it. But thank you, I appreciate that."

Ron nodded, suddenly feeling ill. Before him was a man grieving, and all he could think about was how badly he'd like to take him home and fuck him over the desk in that old study. He was a pervert. He was the most insensitive person alive. He kept imagining the other night, when he'd had Remus on the chaise in the living room, while Sirius looked on and wanked, and the sickest part was that that wasn't even _real_. _This_ Remus had no clue about any sort of perceived relationship they might have had. This Remus saw him as Harry Potter's little friend; a _boy_ , not the man that Ron could be for him when they were in the Pensieve.

Ron excused himself, barely even hearing the reason his mouth had chosen to give, and hating himself for the way he shivered again at Remus' friendly touch to his arm as he passed. There was a Floo set up at the far side of the dining room, and he made a beeline for it, whisking himself back to the safety of Grimmauld Place as quickly as he could mutter the name.

He knew he was headed for the Pensieve without even having to think about it. He just needed...something, some way to work out this frustration. Frustration with himself, with the way he felt about Remus now, for literally no reason at all, and with the fact that those were feelings that he knew could never be reciprocated. Once he was in the study, he slammed the door shut, tore open the cabinet, and withdrew his wand.

There, in this Pensieve, he was appreciated, _wanted_. There, he couldn't make any mistakes. Couldn't say the wrong thing. Couldn't _disappoint_. In the Pensieve, Sirius and Remus desired him as much as he did them, and with them, he didn't have to think―he could simply _be_.

Ron was startled for a moment when the very office he knew he was, in reality, currently standing in shimmered into view as the world of the Pensieve gradually settled. For a moment, he thought he'd done something wrong, until he'd spun around to find the basin safely tucked away in its cupboard, and a version of Sirius he very much recognized sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk…

He looked tired, worn. His hands carded through his hair, holding him up by his forehead over the desk. Everything about him was ragged, and he looked like he could use a shave. Yes, that was definitely a Sirius that Ron knew well; he guessed that this must have been shortly after Dumbledore had reinstated the Order and set up shop here at the manor.

The door soon opened, and Remus entered. Ron watched as Sirius' demeanor shifted instantly: his face lit up, an affectionate smile spreading across his lips. He stood and crossed around the desk, his arms flinging out to catch Remus as he all but ran into them. They stood there for a long, lingering moment, just holding each other.

"I'm sorry about _him_. He's an arse."

"Bloody Snivellus. He can suck my fat cock, for all I care." Remus pulled back, wrinkling his nose in playful disgust, and Sirius let out that short bark of a laugh that Ron remembered well. "I don't mean _literally_."

"I should hope not."

"'Course not, love. I only let _you_ do that, you know." He flashed him that filthy smirk that Ron had come to find would make his insides melt in a second, and Remus laughed as well, before sealing his lips in a fiery kiss.

Yes, this was it. This was what he needed. No worries. No effort. No way to disappoint. He could just be himself here―and be with them. As the couple ground together, slowly backing up towards the desk, he popped the button on his fly.

"Do we have time?"

"Yeah, Moody is on one of his rants about Ministry security, they'll be at it for hours."

Ron fished out his cock and gave it a good stroke―only to stuff it back into his trousers just as quickly. The door had opened again, and now the pair were scrambling to make this look less conspicuous than it really was, and then in walked…

"Hey, Sirius, I'd wanted to ask you about―oh Merlin!"

" _Dad_?" Ron whispered, half expecting his father to look his way, although of course he didn't. Instead, he stammered and backed out again, shouting a frantic:

"Sorry, sorry, didn't realize you two were―"

"It's okay, Arthur," Sirius called after him, and he returned, although a tad reluctantly, giving them each a sheepish grin.

"What'd you need?" Remus asked, chuckling to himself as he smoothed down his jumper.

"Oh, uh...Just wanted to talk to you about that portrait, you know, of your mother. It's just, she's been screaming her head off for the past few minutes, and I can't figure out...There's really no way for us to take it down?"

And she was, in fact, shrieking; Ron could hear it now, trickling up the stairs out in the corridor. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before. He couldn't exactly say that he'd missed the sound.

"Not that I know of," Sirius admitted, his tone lamenting. "Far be it from Walburga Black to leave when she's not wanted."

"Maybe we should take another look?" Remus suggested. "I certainly wouldn't mind not having to listen to _that_ anymore."

"Sure, why not. We'll come out there with you, Arthur."

The trio made to leave, but just as they reached the threshold, Ron's father paused to give them both a sidelong glance and ask slyly:

"Were you two really gonna shag in here, with all of us just in the next room?"

"Perhaps," Remus replied with a devilish wink, to which both Sirius and his father laughed. "You should try it sometime, Artie. It's quite exhilarating."

And then they were gone, leaving Ron alone in the study, before the memory dissolved and spat him back into the real world. He stood over the basin for longer than usual, blinking down at it, his mind whirring. He didn't know how he hadn't ever come across that particular memory before. What had happened in it...It wasn't something he'd been expecting at all. He'd been in it for the sex, all this time, and what he'd ended up getting was so much more than just that...

So they _hadn't_ been as secretive as he'd always been led to believe. At least not when they were older. No, by then they were open, honest, and...they had one of the most loving, devoted relationships he thought he'd ever seen. And from the look of things in that last memory, it didn't appear like anyone who knew cared, nor judged them for it at all. Even his own father...Something occurred to him in that moment that made him feel oddly… _awake_ to his own emotions in a way that he hadn't felt much recently: that they had all of that, regardless of what anybody thought of them...and here he was, _playing_ at being the same way, leading a false life with a couple of ghosts in a memory bin.

He needed to process this. Needed to sit down and really think, and not in here. So he closed up the cabinet, doused the lamp, and headed for the door. But as soon as he'd opened it, he could hear someone calling for him...

"Ron? You here?"

Percy. What the hell was _he_ doing here? His voice was coming from the living room downstairs. The Floo; Ron had left the channel open, for Harry and Ginny. Of course, he hadn't expected anyone else from their family might try to follow him. He took the steps two at a time and met his elder brother in the foyer.

"Hey, Perce," he attempted to greet him casually, fully aware that he was probably piss poor at hiding his emotions at the moment―as if he'd ever been otherwise. "What are you―?"

"You've developed a habit of running off lately. I came to make sure you're alright." Percy was smiling at him. Ron raised an eyebrow in return, to which he then rolled his eyes and added with a snort, "I know, I know, not really my thing. But Mum and Dad were worried about you, and I offered to help."

Something unspoken passed between them―a bit of shock, that made them both chuckle anxiously. Ron could still remember when Percy had walked out on them. And he'd never exactly been the most touchy-feely when it came to his siblings, even before then. There'd been a time when Ron had, well...hated him for it. But right now, his presence was comforting, and he found himself feeling grateful that Percy had thought to come after him.

"So, are you alright?"

"Yeah, 'm fine. Thanks, though." There was an awkward beat. Ron felt like he should be giving him some kind of explanation as to why he'd left the party he'd planned so suddenly, but he didn't know what to say. Instead, he glanced at the door behind them, leading down to the kitchen, and asked, "Well, while you're here...Wanna drink, or something?"

As he turned to lead the way, he felt a hand close around his shoulder. He paused and spun back to see Percy giving him a concerned look. It took a moment before he realized that he recognized it; it was the same expression he'd worn that first Sunday, when their mother had slipped up about Hermione. It was the same expression he'd been looking at him with for awhile now, come to think of it...

"Look, I know I haven't been the most...open sort, but if there was anything you wanted to talk about…"

What could he possibly be...Ron could see it on his face, what Percy was asking about, but he couldn't figure out why. What was the reason for following him here, just to ask about his and Hermione's relationship, as if he hadn't been shoving off everyone else about it this entire time? But then Percy said something that made him feel frozen in his tracks:

"I _understand_ , Ron." The word hit him like a punch to the chest. _Understand_? But what could that...Oh. _Oh_. "And I understand if you don't feel you can talk about it right now, but I wanted to let you know that I'm here, whenever you need."

He'd suspected, from time to time, but he'd always brushed it off. Looking at Percy now, he honestly couldn't say why. It was so obvious. He wasn't following protocol, either.

"I'm...I'm getting there. I'll let you know. I promise."

"Good, good. I'll, uh...I'm gonna head back, then, if that's okay. You coming?"

"Sure, yeah, just...gimme a second, I'd just come here because, well, I needed―"

"I know. It's okay."

Percy was heading back towards the Floo, and Ron had decided he was going to take a moment, take a breath, and then follow him. But then his brother was turning back, saying:

"Also, you really should talk to George as well. I'm sure he'd love having an extra pair of hands around the shop, especially coming from one of his own." Ron blinked, his brow furrowing. Percy merely shrugged, a rare, mischievous smile lighting his features. "A little birdy told me."

But the only one he'd ever talked to about that had been...He couldn't help it: he smiled, too. His chest felt lighter than it had in months. After everything, and she'd still...

"Thanks, I think I'll do just that."

***

It would've been just another ordinary Saturday. Ginny was out with friends. Ron and Harry were still hanging about in their pajamas at half twelve. They'd brought up the idea of heading out for lunch as well, as neither felt compelled to fix something themselves. To be honest, there probably wasn't anything in the house for them to cook, regardless. It was just a matter of convincing themselves to get dressed and actually _leave_ , which was proving difficult. Finally, however, Harry had swatted him on the shoulder and made some comment about how they needed to get off their lazy arses, before getting up to go himself.

Ron decided, then and there, that he was going to do it. He couldn't exactly explain why this moment in particular felt so right to him, but as he watched Harry turn towards the hall, he suddenly _wanted him to know_ so badly that it ached. The Pensieve had become a thing of the past over the previous couple weeks; it just didn't feel good to him anymore, not after the things he'd come to realize about himself. Still, he'd been biding his time about talking to anyone about it―anyone other than Percy, anyway. But right now, he couldn't bear the idea of letting it go on for any longer. Not with him...

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Harry stopped and turned back, hanging half off the stairs leading up to the corridor, his hand resting on the doorframe. His demeanor was light and casual, traces of a playful smile hanging on his lips. It took one solid beat for him to see that something was amiss. And when he did, he anxiously adjusted his glasses, fixing his best friend with a concerned expression. The look almost made Ron decide against it. Pretend he'd forgotten what he was going to say. Brush it off for another time, maybe when they were drunk, maybe when he wouldn't be worrying that Harry wasn't going to take it as well as he'd anticipated. _Almost_.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


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